


Rescue

by sarcastic_fi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Betrayal, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Cults, Deception, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Gen, Grooming, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Violence, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Rape, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Statutory Rape, Threats of Violence, Underage Sex, Werewolf Culture, indoctrination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:09:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1260856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fi/pseuds/sarcastic_fi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hales have always been considered reclusive, but after the deaths of many family members Peter Hale rose to power and created a Cult in place of the secret Pack that had once lived at the edge of Beacon Hills. During this time Stiles Stilinski, Malia Tate, Scott McCall, Melissa McCall and Lydia Martin had all been taken by the Cult and mistreated in some way. This story picks up after they had been rescued and deals with the aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Meaning of Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the warnings/tags. This story contains a multitude of triggers that could be very upsetting. Apologies, but the idea wouldn't shake loose and I just had to write it. Again; please pay attention to the warnings in the TAGS! If there are things you think I need to add to the tags please let me know!

“Who wants to open? Lydia?”

A circle of silent teenagers all avoiding her gaze surrounded Miss Morrell. There were eight students in the group, however only seven had turned up for today’s session. One was a kidnap and rape victim Lydia Martin, who was a bright beautiful girl with brittle edges that she used as a defence against anyone who tried to help her heal. Lydia sent a tight unpleasant smile in Morrell’s direction and then proceeded to stare at the reflection of the clock in a large window trying to look like she didn’t care about the fact she was sat in group therapy. By the state of her nails, which had been freshly manicured three days ago but were now bitten and chipped, Morrell knew the girl wasn’t coping as well as she pretended.

“Cora, would you like to offer up your definition?” Cora Hale was a closed mouthed girl who had lost almost all of her family in a fire when she had been a child. Her brother, Derek, was her legal guardian but in Morrell’s opinion he was hardly better than a state carer as he was equally as troubled as his seventeen year old sister. Cora dealt with every question as if it were a battle; her answers were carefully planned and delivered in a way to cause the most damage to others. Morrell had her own suspicions that Cora wasn’t here to seek help, or because she had been forced into sessions by parents or the authorities like Lydia and Stiles, but because she wanted something else entirely. 

“It’s not an English lesson,” Cora said, and met Morrell’s eyes with calm self-assuredness that made the words ‘I don’t give a fuck’ appear in Morrell’s head. Her brother was the same, using his face to tell you what he really thought. Words escaped the two surviving Hale siblings.

“Thank you for your input Cora, however I’m not asking for a dictionary definition. Isaac, perhaps you could help us out?”

The pale lanky boy shook his head, eyes downcast and his arms wrapped defensively around his thin frame. Isaac had been abused mentally and physically by his father for years before anyone found out. He was now living with Deaton, Morrell’s brother, while they prosecuted his father. Even after finding the horrors in Isaac’s house and reporting them in court, Isaac couldn’t be convinced to speak ill against his father. Morrell gave him a sensible amount of time to respond to the question, and then moved on. 

“Matt? Do you have anything to share?”

Matt scowled at her. His hands wrung each other in his lap and he sat hunched over, his body language was as communicative as Cora’s wasn’t. He had almost drowned to death in Isaac’s pool when he was a child and had never recovered. To this day he suffered from night terrors, panic attacks and an extreme phobia of large bodies of water. 

“Nothing? Anyone?” She kept her voice steady, determined not to show her frustration. She’d never run a less co-operative group in her whole career as a counsellor, and that included sessions at Eichen house.

Boyd folded his arms across his broad upper body and gave her his best ‘I’m not impressed with this waste of time’ stare. He was here because his sister had died, and his parents were convinced that his lack of friends or social life was a direct result of him never recovering from the trauma of being the last person to see her alive. Morrell didn’t think forcing him into therapy was best for anyone, so she humoured his lack of participation and worked on getting his parents to accept the fact that Boyd was never going to be Homecoming King no matter how many hours of therapy he was forced to sit through. That boy was a survivor.

Stiles Stilinski politely raised his hand. Morrell was instantly suspicious, but she put aside her own prejudices and let him speak.

“Stiles?”

“What does freedom mean to me? It means having a choice in attending this meeting.”

Malia smiled snidely. She was next to him, of course. 

Since Lydia, Stiles and Malia had been rescued from the Hale Cult under Peter Hale’s control, Stiles had not been seen in public without Malia at his side. She was fiercely protective over him and it was decidedly unhealthy.

“Malia do you have anything to add?”

“Yes. The hour is up.”

instantly the group disbanded, the sound of scraping chairs filled the room and echoed through the empty school halls. No one made look at each other as they all made a bee line for the door, grabbing their bags along the way. Morrell called Stiles name and he reluctantly waited behind with Malia hovering by the doorway.

“May I ask you why Scott McCall has stopped attending group?” Scott, along with his mother, had also been victims of Peter’s control. He had attended both group and private sessions on and off for two months after the event before he just stopped showing up all together. It was more than just a shame, as Morrell knew she had so much guidance that Scott could benefit from.

“Probably because his mom doesn't see any point in forcing him to sit in a room and talk about the meaning of freedom.”

“This is more than an exercise in language and communication, Stiles. I'm sorry that you feel like your freedom is being impinged upon by attending therapy, but it is necessary.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and turned away from her. As soon as he reached the door way, Morrell saw Malia grab Stiles' hand, clenching it tight in her own. Stiles gave her a quick squeeze and then they were out of sight, but never out of mind. Morrell would be keeping a close eye on those teenagers. For their own good, and the good of the town.

The balance must be preserved. No matter the cost.


	2. 20 KHz +

First, there was light.

It exploded, blinding him. Stiles fell to his knees, wanting the security of being able to feel the floor. He winced in pain as a piece of glass from the broken window dug into the soft flesh of his palm. He didn't have time to dwell on the small pains, because the next thing he people were screaming in agony. Not screaming, howling. As Stiles' sight slowly returned to him he saw Kali, one of Peter's betas, holding hands over her ears as she howled into the smoke filled room. 

Smoke? Where had that come from? Stiles couldn't smell any fire, but his throat was hoarse as he breathed in the unfriendly gas. It wasn't anything he recognised, but by the way it was weakening the Pack members Stiles could only guess that it was some kind of weaponised Aconitum. These people who were attacking the Compound knew about werewolves. Stiles didn't have time to reflect if that was good or very, very bad.

Gun shots sounded off in the distance and Stiles scooted to the edge of the room. He wanted to be braver, find Malia, Scott and Lydia but fear kept him hidden behind a bookshelf until it was over. The smoke started to clear and he could finally see the wreckage; Kali's dead body lay on the floor less than a foot away from him, her angry brown eyes now vacant as they stared past him and into the next life. Nausea hit him and he doubled over, vomiting up his last meal and some blood as well. He stayed behind the bookshelf until the authorities came in with their faces covered in gas masks and a gun pointed in front of them. It was a young policewoman found him, reaching out for him with her unarmed hand. She felt familiar, but with a mask over her features Stiles couldn't be sure if he had once known her or not. She used his name, his real one, which had shocked him out of his hiding place. Of course, she had pronounced it wrong but he could hardly blame her for that when even his dad used to stumble over the short vowels and tripled consonants. She asked him if he was hurt. He shook his head, but he wasn't sure if that was the truth. She told him her name was Tara, and that she knew his father. It was only then that he realised what was happening. They were being rescued. Pity it was three years too late.

The paramedics kept placing a blanket over him, no matter how many times he shrugs it off. People, cops, doctors, curious civillians, they all ask him stupid questions. He answers each with a one of his own; where is Scott? Has anyone seen Malia? How is Lydia? Can I see Melissa? They tell him he is in shock. He just wants to know how the people who are important to him are, but already he has been downgraded in their eyes from person to child, and worse, to victim.

He is taken to a hospital where he has to wait in a corridor filled with other humans from the compound as well as some unknown ones; a set of parents cuddling their sick toddler with hollowed expressions, an elderly man who stank of urine gazing off into the distance as a young woman holds his hand and whispers reassuring words that he doesn't acknowledge, and a college aged kid with a bloody nose and a drunken smile. Among the other compound members, Stiles cannot see anyone he knew too well, but he notes that the werewolves are all missing. Dead? Runaways? Captured? Stiles didn't ask about them. He was too preoccupied with his absent friends.

Eventually he goes in to see a Doctor. He is professional, brisk, but wears this watery smile and it clicks with a sharp sudden accompanying pain that this man was his mother's doctor. The one who watched her die. He asked Stiles if he wanted a chaperone for the intimate exam but Stiles knew his own rights and refused the procedure. They wanted to know if he had been raped or otherwise abused. They would just have to suck it up, ask him, and except the answer. Stiles had been violated enough in his life that now someone was giving him a choice he was going to protect himself. 

There was no point asking the doctor about the others, he wouldn't be able to say even if he did know. Stiles bided his time until he was released into the cops' care with a reminder that he had a concussion and was malnourished but otherwise healthy enough. Healthy enough for a victim, was the unspoken words but Stiles had always been good at hearing the unspoken. Words like; 'or you're grounded', or 'you're the reason she's dead', or even 'I'm going to rape you now'.

Stiles found himself in an interrogation room next, with a pretty green eyed policeman who couldn't be older than twenty-five. The policeman smiled at him. Stiles hunched over in his chair and avoided the cop's gaze. He wished now that he had been allowed to keep the blanket as he started to shiver, either from the cold or a delayed reaction. He'd had a shock worthy day. The cop takes the time to explain to him that he isn't in trouble, and Stiles rolled his eyes, before asking him the question that was on everyone's lips.

Where is Peter Hale?

Stiles honestly doesn't know, and that made things simpler. However, the policeman wasn't satisfied and tried asking the question in four different ways before Stiles got bored of all the bullshit and started asking his own questions. Eventually his only course of action was to insist on a child services rep be present. He was seventeen, it was his right to ask for someone to be there with him. 

He had underestimated the cop. Instead of a stranger, they brought his dad in. For the first time in five years, Stiles cried.


	3. Omega

“Do you want a ride?” Malia asked as they exited the school. Out of the four teenagers, Malia was the only one among them who could drive. They didn't talk about it, but she had been trusted; after all Peter had been her family. There had been no reason for her to want to leave the commune, her mom and sister dead since before she could remember them and no one else who cared. Since their return to everyday normal life Lydia had started taking Driver's Ed, where as Stiles didn't feel motivated to take on the responsibility of driving and Scott... well, Scott had bigger problems right now

“I was going to head over to see Scott.” 

“I'll come. It's not like I'm in a rush to get back or anything,” Malia said. She took his hand and they walked to her car, a cheap second hand red pick-up that had been brought second hand by Peter for Malia to go get groceries and run errands. The cops had wanted to force her to give the vehicle up but the lawyers had argued that Malia was a minor and, despite the suspicions about her, there were no charges being brought against her.

“Stiles, are you okay?” Malia asked when they arrived outside the McCall house.

“Yeah, why?” He turned to face her in confusion. She sounded genuinely worried about him. He wanted to reassure her, but nothing he could say would make her believe him. They knew each other too well to lie.

“You've been so quiet. Is this about Morrell? You know the therapy sessions are just a load of bullshit that they are putting us through to make themselves feel better. It's just time to waste until we turn eighteen. We can make our own minds up then.”

Stiles nodded, a sick feeling was twisting in his stomach. “What do you want to do then?”

Malia smiled to herself and gazed out the window as she drove, a private thought pleasing her. “We can talk about this later. Scott needs us right now.”

“Right,” Stiles sighed. He ambled up to the door and knocked. Melissa answered the door, casting a quick but thorough look around before pulling Stiles and Malia inside. 

“Does your father know you're here?” Melissa, asked, her arms crossed over her body defensively. She looked nervous and edgy, the same way that Stiles had been feeling inside ever since it sunk in that the life he had been living for the past six years was over, and this new one was almost more frightening in it's unpredictability and unknown rules. He imagined the reasons behind her reactions were much different for Melissa, who had lived in the 'real' world for over thirty years before her time at the compound, still Stiles could relate on a purely emotive scale. 

Stiles shook his head. “How is he?” 

“A wreck. The full moon is three days away and he's already having trouble. We can't go on like this. It was meant to get better.”

“He's just new. He was only turned last year, and now he's lost his Alpha things won't be easy for him,” Malia said.

“Why don't you stay with him? For the full moon. Make sure he doesn't get out and draw any undue attention to himself.”

Malia frowned. “No. I'm not leaving you.”

“Malia, I live with the Sheriff. I'll be fine. My dad has like a million guns.”

“Not guns with aconite bullets. Besides, he's never even there.”

Stiles winced. “What about a sleepover then? We can all stay here. You can keep an eye on Scott and protect me?”

As a compromise it was unimpressive. Stiles knew Malia didn't want Stiles to be with Scott when he was dangerous, and she hated every second he was out of her sight let alone at the most dangerous time of the month. Still, it was better than leaving Scott with only Melissa to stop him from getting out and a bunch of suspicious hunters roaming the forest every full moon.

“Fine.”

“Thank you, Malia,” Melissa said, taking one of the girl's hands in her own. Malia managed a smile and a quick squeeze of affection before she stepped back, taking her hand with her.

“I suppose you'll want to actually see Scott yourself?” Malia asked.

“I'll be down in half an hour, tops.”

“You'd better be, or I'm coming up to drag you home myself.”

Stiles nodded absently before abandoning the two women and making his way up the familiar stair case of the McCall home. During Melissa and Scott's time at the compound the house had been resided in by Melissa's husband, Rafael McCall. Back when Stiles had known him he had been intimidating, from a child's perspective, although Stiles had never been one to cower away from something he feared, which meant Rafael and Stiles had had an adversarial relationship to say the least. It hadn't helped that he had been an alcoholic and more than a little verbally abusive while drunk. Since the disappearance of his wife and son he had cleaned up his act a hell of a lot, rose quickly in the ranks of the FBI and had actually been a part of the task force that had organised the raid on the compound. Once Melissa and Scott had been saved, Rafael had expected to be joined by his wife and son in their familial home. He had left on night three. Melissa would have been forced to kick him out before the first full moon anyway, but her own skittishness and unwillingness to discuss what had happened while she had been gone paired with Scott's nightmares and aggressive behaviour had had Agent McCall strategically retreating with his metaphorical tale between his legs. Now Melissa and Scott were alone in the house, trying to make it feel like home again.

Stiles reached his best friend's door and pausing. He knocked gently and called out, “Scott, buddy? It's just me. I'm coming in, okay?”

Inside the room was dark despite the fact it was only seven pm. The bed was trashed, sweaty sheets torn and abandoned not even attempting to hide where Scott's claws had torn into the mattress beneath during one of his nightmares. Even to Stiles' human nose the room smelt of sweat and piss; of fear. A groan from the corner of the room indicated where Scott was and Stiles made a move towards his friend, stopped only by the flash of golden eyes.

“Hey, it's just me,” he called out soothingly.

“Sorry,” Scott panted. He'd been holding his breath before, trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible. 

“It's okay. Can I come closer?”

Scott shook his head manically. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“You won't, but I'll stay here. I just wanted to see how you are doing?”

“Not good. Have you found any of the others?”

Stiles shook his head. He had desperately trying to find out where the werewolf members of the compound had been sent, to the point where it was actually the only thing he asked his dad. Of course, he couldn't use the word 'werewolves' around his dad, so he had asked after 'the others', which apparently wasn't specific enough for Sheriff Stilinski who said he needed names before he could violate someone's privacy by tracking them down. Which was basically a no, his dad didn't know where they were and most likely wouldn't have clearance to find out. Besides, Stiles didn't want to give his dad their names because he wasn't sure if some had managed to escape, or if they were hiding with Peter, and Stiles had no desire to get anyone into trouble. Especially not people with claws, superhuman strength and an one hundred percent accurate lie detector inbuilt within them. At first Stiles had thought they were all dead, after all Argent was a hunter and he'd been involved with the raid hence why their had been werewolf affective weapons, but Scott assured him that as Pack he would be able to feel their lose and while certainly not all of them had made it out of the compound alive, there was a good proportion who were still out there.

“I heard a rumour that Erica was seen around town but I haven't been able to confirm that since her parents have gone underground.”

“Stiles, I need them. I can't be an Omega.”

“I know. We'll find them. It's just... everyone is still running around wondering what to do without the Alpha. They'll regroup eventually. Meanwhile Malia and me will be here during the full moon. We'll keep you anchored until... Okay?”

“I guess it's the best we got.”

“Hey, I'll have you know I'm the best anyone's got and you are damn lucky to have me!” Stiles joked weakly. 

Scott smiled. “I know.”

“Stiles! We have to go, your dad called your cell like three times already,” Malia said, appearing at the door without having made a noise.

“Sure thing. Bye Scott.”

“Scott,” Malia nodded at the beta.

“Take care of him,” Scott said.

Malia's eyes flashed blue in annoyance. “I will.”

Stiles rolled his eyes at their behaviour. “Come on then,” he said and allowed Malia to tug him outside with only a quick goodbye to Melissa before they were on their way to take him to his house.


	4. Careful What You Wish For

Malia insisted on driving Stiles home even though they both knew that the Sheriff would be less than pleased to see her. Fortunately they didn't have to deal with that, as Stiles' dad was no where to be seen when they arrived. Stiles didn't know if he should be grateful or resentful. At first his father's avoidance had been natural and expected; after all he was the Sheriff and he'd had interviews to conduct, procedures to be debriefed upon and reports to write. The raid on the Hale Cult had been a big case, the biggest that Beacon Hills Police Department had ever seen, so Stiles had understood his dad putting in extra hours to close the case in order to put it all behind them. If he was being really honest with himself then he had been relieved too. It had taken so much effort to catch up with school work, being home schooled by a bunch of fanatics who thought that learning about lunar phases was more important than maths had left him somewhat behind his peers academically, as well as learning a whole new social rhythm and way of life. Dealing with a dad who missed his eleven year old son and couldn't relate to the seventeen year old boy who stood in his place, had seemed more daunting than his first day of high school. However, when, after a few weeks, it became obvious that even the FBI had put the case to bed, Stiles started to realise that his dad was actively finding reasons to avoid Stiles. Offering himself up for overtime, staying late at the office to finish reports that weren't due for weeks and being extra vigilant for crimes just so he could legitimately say he was too busy to come home. That was when Stiles had started to act out. His dad's response to this was to force him into therapy with Ms Morrell, twice a week for private sessions and once for group. Needless to say, Stiles hadn't seen his dad any more since acting out than he had beforehand.

He guessed it was a simple case of being careful what you wished for. How many times had his dad glared up at the stars with tears in his eyes and prayed to find Stiles, safe and whole, to have his son returned? Instead, all he had gotten after all that hard work and wishing was a stranger wearing his son's body. One that he could barely trust and clearly couldn’t stand to be around.

“Do you want me to come in?” Malia asked as they stared at the dark empty house.

Stiles sat quietly, thinking as he repetitively tapped his food on the floor of the car. After a moment, Malia rested her hand on his knee. “Stiles?”

“I can't sleep without you there,” he admitted finally. It was half true. For the past six years he had slept in a room with at least one other person and had become accustomed to falling asleep listening to the other person's breathing even out. The silence of his own bedroom suffocated him. He hated it, and he hated hating it.

“No one will notice I'm not there. Come on,” she smiled at him calmly and led the way inside his house and upstairs to his bedroom. His dad had kept the room a like a shrine after Stiles had disappeared, frozen in time. One night a few weeks ago his dad had come home from a shift to find Stiles, Malia and Lydia repainting the room and decorating it with more appropriately aged items for him. Stiles had been smiling as Malia and Lydia bickered over the petty details. When he saw his dad he had stopped laughing, the look of pain and horror on his dad's face... as if Stiles had desecrated the memory of the Sheriff's son by painting his own room. Stiles had chased after his dad, telling him they would change it back if it bothered him. Apologising. His dad had shaken his head, insisting that it was fine, it was good. That he was just happy to have Stiles home.

Everything about his dad's body language and voice in that moment had screamed 'liar', and Stiles couldn't held but think that his dad would rather have the ghost of an eleven year old boy immortalised in his childish bedroom wallpaper than the reality of a flesh and blood teenage son who came with his own difficulties and baggage. It wasn't a charitable thought, but it plagued him in all of his darkest hours.

They settled in for the night, falling into a pattern they had established since their return to the real world. Malia slept at the Stilinski house more than she had ever stayed at her foster family's home. The Mahealani's were too polite and understanding to mention Malia's disappearances, and the Sheriff didn't know due to his devotion to the practise of absenteeism.

At about three twenty am that all changed.

Stiles woke to the feel of Malia's arms around his upper body, the sound of her voice soothing him like a mother to a crying baby. He was warm all over but a cold sweat clung to his skin and he shivered, quickly realising that the bed sheets had fallen off – been kicked off of the bed during his night terror.

That was when the Sheriff busted into the room. “Stiles? Stiles are you oka-”

The Sheriff flicked on the light and stared at the sight before him; his under age son in bed wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of boxers while a pretty teenage girl dressed similarly hugged him close to her scantily clad body. It didn't matter that there was clear evidence of a makeshift bed on the floor where Malia had been sleeping. The mere suggestion of inappropriate behaviour and rule breaking was enough to send Stiles' dad into bad cop mode.

“What the Hell is going on here?”

“Stiles had a nightmare!” Malia spat at him as she stroked the back of Stiles' neck and smoothed her hand over his beating heart.

The Sheriff narrowed his eyes. “Miss Tate, as you know, you shouldn't even be in my son's room after dark. I'm going to call your foster parents now and have them pick you up.”

Malia rolled her eyes and bent to pick up her jeans and shrug back into a jacket. “I can drive myself home.”

“Good, then do so! And I will be calling Mr and Mrs Mahealani.”

“Fine!” 

Malia kissed Stiles on the forehead and stormed out of the room. Stiles knew he would see her tomorrow. His dad turned to follow the troublesome teenager, stopping briefly to ask, “your nightmare... are you okay now?”

Stiles nodded. His heart had slowed to a resting pace and his hands had stopped shaking. He would survive the night, even if he didn't get any more sleep. “It was just a dream,” he assured his dad, hollowly.

The Sheriff looked unconvinced but his desire to ensure that Malia was gone won out over his over protective parent instinct and he left. Stiles switched the desk lamp on and crawled back into his bed. Sleep evaded him, just like he knew it would, and he spent the rest of the night staring blankly at the pale blue wall waiting for the sun to rise and tell him it was safe. That he was safe. 

It was bitter to realise that not even the daylight could comfort him upon it's arrival. He knew now what eleven year old him had not. Monsters were not just for night time. They didn't live under your bed. They lured you in with sweets and promises, then burned your body and stole your innocence. And nobody could save you but yourself.


	5. Ghosts

Stiles crawled out of bed the next morning convinced he could still smell his own flesh burning. His shower was more necessary than invigorating, he needed to cleanse himself of his nigh time sweat before he dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, ready to face the new day. His dad was downstairs, coffee mug in one hand and the newspaper in the other. His police scanner inches away. An ever present barrier to their relationship, and a threat of danger and human frailty. After living with the Pack for so long, Stiles was all too aware of how breakable humans were.

“You look like crap.”

Stiles wanted to laugh. He hadn't heard his dad talk like that, like a regular person, since before his mom had been diagnosed. All their recent conversations had been stilted by what his dad thought he should be saying to Stiles rather than what he wanted to say to his son. It was as nice as it was unexpected to hear his dad use that tone of voice with him.

“Thanks.”

“There is some coffee in the pot if you want some before school, but hurry because I have to get to the station soon. I'll drop you off on the way.”

“Dad, I'm not six. I can take the bus or call Malia to get me,” Stiles rolled his eyes, feeling like a teenager for the first time ever.

“Believe me, I am well aware of how old you are, Stiles, and Malia getting you is the last thing either of us need today!”

Stiles' sense of contentment was ruined. “What does that mean?”

“I think you know what that means.”

“No, I really don't. You've been nothing but passive aggressive towards her, and outright hostile behind her back. What is it that has you so distrustful of Malia?”

“She's Peter Hale's daughter.”

Stiles froze. He was well aware of who Malia's father was. Her last name was her stepfather's, Tate, the name she had shared with her mother and sister, but Malia had been conceived of a brief union between Peter and Malia's mother. The details were fuzzy as to what happened next; whether Malia's mother left, or Peter disappeared, but not long after Malia's mother married and had another daughter. Malia was only young when her family died, leaving her the soul surviving Tate and every bit Peter's daughter. Not everyone knew thanks to the virtue of Malia's last name. Stiles was sure people would treat her badly if it were more wildly known.

Hearing his dad talking about it sent Stiles mind back to a time when he hadn't a father, only the Pack and their way of life. After the nightmare, it was all too much.

“She's my family,” Stiles whispered.

The Sheriff flinched. “No, son. I'm your family. Malia is the daughter of the man who took you away from me,” he sighed. “Come on. We need to leave.”

Stiles grabbed his rucksack and preceded his dad out of the door. Silence filled the car for the duration of the journey and Stiles opened the door before his had had been able to apply the parking break, taking off in the direction of the school and away from his dad's prying eyes and disappointments. 

He wasn't looking where he was going, still wrapped up in the conflicting guilt and resentment that his dad had stirred up in him. He ran straight into Erica Reyes.

“Uh... hi.”

Erica stared at him as if he was an axe murderer about to make the final cut. She was tall, blond and beautiful with the kind of ethereal beauty that came with being a werewolf, and once upon a time she had had the biggest crush on Stiles. Until Peter came along.

Erica glared at him and set off in the opposite direction she had been going in. It was obvious she was just trying to escape from him. He stared after her, looking like an idiot as he stood in the middle of the corridor, mouth hanging open in shock.

“You look like you've just seen a ghost,” Lydia observed, sidling up beside him.

It was a rare enough occurrence for Lydia to acknowledge his existence that it snapped Stiles out of his trance. Lydia's story of how she came to be living at the compound was, in Stiles' opinion, the most horrific. Stiles himself had been just a stupid kid wandering off where he shouldn't have been, really the whole thing had been his own fault. Melissa and Scott, torn up about Stiles's disappearance, had happened on the encampment and been taken in to protect the Pack's secret. Lydia, however, had been abducted from her home and brought to Peter as a pubescent girl. There had been motive, purpose and malice in the actions and Stiles would never understand why.

Now that they had been returned to their former lives Lydia was trying her best to slip seamlessly into her old life; popular, trend setter, intelligent and beloved by the boys of the school. She had her eye on Jackson Whittmore, although Stiles knew that she was way too good for the mildly intelligent completely ignorant jock. That life had never included Stiles, and despite their shared experiences, or maybe even because of them, it still didn't.

“Did you know that Erica was at school?” He asked, not willing to push his luck by asking why she was talking to him.

She shrugged one elegant shoulder. “I heard she's living with Boyd's family because her own are still under investigation by the cops for child endangerment and suspect involvement in kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping?”

“Mrs Reyes was my piano teacher. She used to come to my house every Thursday and spent two hours instructing me.” In other words she would have known the lay out of Lydia's house, where the doors where, who slept in what room and what their routines were. Stiles guessed the price for her daughter's immortality had been her own morality. 

“Why does it bother you? You don't seem to care one way or another about me, or Malia or Scott being in class with you, other than that they are your friends. Why does Erica's presence unsettle you?”

“You sound like Miss Morrell.”

“Maybe you should talk to her?”

“Who Erica?”

Lydia snorted delicately. “No, Miss Morrell. I'm not saying she's any where near qualified to deal with what happened to us, but sometimes just talking to someone who's willing to listen can unburden us.”

“I take it you aren't willing to listen, then?” Stiles suggested.

“To you?” Lydia raised her eyebrows. “No. To Mr Harris? No, but for the sake of my allowance I will at least pretend to listen to him. I'll see you in class, Stiles.” Lydia walked off down the hallway and the bell rang for first period.

The hall was empty before he managed to find the impetus to set off for class, still dazed from his run in with Erica. 

There were memories that haunted you like ghosts, keeping you company all night long only banished by the forgiving glow of sunlight on the horizon. There were also memories that hit you, solid and real, in the gut reminding you of the pain you had witnessed, suffered and caused. Those were the memories that you lived with, and no amount of sun, or love or compassion could ever bathe the wounds clean. Those memories were the ones you had to live with. If you could even call that living.


	6. Grudges

Stiles had hoped to slip unnoticed into Harris’ classroom, but no one had ever been that. He mumbled a blatantly insincere apology and made his way to his desk keeping his head ducked as if that would shield him from the rude stares of his peers. Silence filled the room, interrupted only by the unsubtle tap, tap, tap of Harris’ foot against the floor.

“Are you ready for class to start, Mr Stilinski?”

Stiles looked up, catching Mr Harris’s dark gleaming eyes. He flinched and his gaze flickered down to a safer place, the skin between the collar of Harris’ pressed shirt and his chin. Harris felt like a predator and Stiles had developed finely honed skills to avoid becoming prey. Part of those skills included knowing when to stay silent and when to abase one’s self.

“Nothing to say? How about an explanation for why your partner in crime cannot even be bothered to make it to class, on time or otherwise.”

Stiles shrugged. “Flu.”

“Of course, that pesky three week long flu. Well, you’re going to need a new lab partner and we have a new student. Erica, sit next to Stiles, please.”

Stiles spun around in his seat to find Erica glaring daggers at him three rows behind. He found himself thinking that maybe he should have checked out his surroundings before turning his back to the class. Today he just could not catch a break.

Erica stalked her way across the classroom with a sulky expression before sliding onto the stood next to Stiles. They didn’t look once at each other.

“Interesting,” Harris murmured. 

Stiles was too afraid to ask what was interesting, but he knew that any other boy in the class would have gladly sacrificed their left arm to get a chance to be Erica’s partner. It was totally understandable, Erica was extremely hot with long waxy blonde hair, big brown eyes and a perfect hour glass figure she accentuated with high heals and tight clothes. The fact that Stiles looked less than happy to be sat near her was a clear sign that something was up between them. It didn't help that everyone knew that both Erica and Stiles had grown up within the Hale cult, however unlike the other rescued teenagers Erica hadn't banded together with them and held herself aloof. Even Lydia was considered 'one of those Cult kids' no matter how hard she tried to distance herself from what had happened. It was probably the time discrepancy, with Erica having disappeared for the last few months, but somehow people just didn't associate her with the Cult, and she didn't associate herself with people like Stiles. 

“Okay. Everyone ready? Thank god, I was so worried. Now, open your books to chapter thirteen; it's time to learn who did the home work! Yes, Danny?”

Danny asked a question and the class resumed as per normal. Stiles spent the next forty minutes with his eyes trained on the desk while Erica watched the clock and tapped blood red nails against the wooden desk in time to his heartbeat. There were no group activities during class so Stiles easily avoided conversation with Erica and escaped as soon as the bell rang. Had Harris been paying attention to what he was doing rather than simpering over Jackson for saying something mildly intelligent Stiles was sure he would have been stopped and given detention, either for arriving late, minimal participation or running in class, but Harris would have found something to punish him for. 

He stumbled out of the door and into Malia who had been waiting around the corner. As soon as she saw who was directly behind him she tensed, her heckles raised and eyes flashing bright blue. “You!” She yelled, loud enough to draw the attention of passing students. Stiles winced and tried to leave, hoping Malia would just follow him. No such luck. Malia grabbed onto his arm and he couldn't pull himself free from her strength.

“You need to stay away from him,” she continued, threateningly.

Erica lounged against the door frame and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, thanks but I got the memo years ago. Trust me, I want nothing to do with Stiles. Or you.”

“Good. Remember your place, beta!” Malia snarled the last word like it was the nastiest expletive to ever be uttered by a teenage girl.

Erica's eyes flashed golden and her mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. “Better a beta than a manipulative, murdering daddy's girl!” 

“HEY!” Lydia yelled, having finally made her way to the doorway of the classroom where students had bottlenecked, some stood staring, others were too shy to brush up against Erica in order to get past her. Lydia just thrust her way through the masses until she stood in the middle of the spectacle they were creating. “Not here. Everyone needs to go their own way. The whole school doesn't need to see this.”

“She's right. Come on, Malia, let's go. Please,” Stiles said quietly. Malia turned to face him, her big brown eyes softening when she saw how this was affecting him. 

“It's gym next. I'll walk with you until we get to the changing rooms,” she said firmly and walked away from the confrontation with nothing more than a glare in Erica's direction. She didn't even acknowledge Lydia, but that wasn't unusual for Malia. She just didn't know how to treat Lydia, who was the one thing she had never been able to forgive her dad.

“Thanks,” Stiles mumbled in Lydia's direction and let Malia pull him along, her arm linked through his as they made their way towards the gymnasium. 

“Are you going to be okay?” She asked when they reached the door to the boys locker room. 

He nodded but must have looked unconvincing. “I can fake bad period pain or a fall if you want? Make Coach let you take me to the nurse's office?”

Stiles smiled. That sounded like such an innocent, teenager thing to do. Something he would have done just to get out of class because he was young. In another life time. The reason Malia offered him this escape had nothing to do with teenage disrespect for education. The smell of burning flesh evaded his senses again and Stiles lost his smile. “No. I'll be fine,” he insisted and left her to face the locker room alone.

It was times like this that he really missed having Scott around. Malia was over protective, and he could never figure out if he found it comforting or suffocating. Everyone around him made their opinion of his relationship with Malia very obvious, telling him straight that it was unhealthy in their eyes, that they distrusted her involvement in his life and pitied him for being fooled by her sweet face. No one understood that their bond had been formed in the most unusual and yes, unhealthy of experiences. He was just as protective over her as she was over him. He just knew he had less to protect her from, and not just because she was a were-coyote. Scott, however, wasn't protective but he was a good best friend. He knew when to shield Stiles and when to let him fight his own battles. Perhaps that was because for most of their lives they had been physical equals, only recently had the balance shifted so that Scott was stronger than Stiles.

Stiles found a corner locker and opened the door before removing his shirt and quickly shoving his sports jersey over the top making sure that no one caught even the slightest glimpse of his back. In a way, that was a metaphor for his life.

Hiding the scars of his past in plain sight, and hoping everyone would be too distracted to look too deep. So far, it was working. With Erica turning up, Stiles wondered how much longer he could keep the farce up.


	7. Making An Effort

After school Stiles made sure that Malia dropped him off outside his house before she headed back to the Mahealani home. She hadn't wanted to, especially after seeing Erica today, but Stiles had told her it was better for him this way. She understood but it only made her resent his father more. Stiles didn't want their to be tension between Malia and his dad, but he didn't want a lot of things. Life wasn't taking orders from Stiles Stilinski so he'd better learn to live with the lot he'd been dealt. Keeping his dad and Malia apart at the moment just seemed like a wise idea.

“You're home,” Stiles stopped short. He had assumed, like normal, that his dad would be at work for a few more hours. Instead he was greeted with the sight of his dad dressed in jeans and a casual shirt with an apron over the top that announced “head chef; step away from the grill and no one gets hurt”. Stiles remembered picking it out for his dad's thirty-fifth birthday, his mom laughing and paying for it before they went for milkshakes. Before his mom had been diagnosed it had always been the Sheriff providing the family with fresh cooked food, with Claudia slipping in the fried treats. Since Stiles had been home he hadn't seen a single vegetable in the house, let alone food worthy of cooking.

“I swapped my shift with Tara. I figured it was about time I started acting like a dad instead of issuing orders like a Sheriff.”

Stiles swallowed down a lump of emotion in his throat and made his way to the drawer of cutlery. “What are you making?”

“Nothing special, just pasta.”

It smelt good and Stiles could tell it was one of his dad's home made recipes full of vegetables and some kind of spicy meat. He selected the correct cutlery and laid the table, bringing over water glasses and a beer for his dad before sitting down. “So, how was your day?”

His dad gave him a wry smile. “I realised I've been a jackass to my son, so I felt like crappy all day. You?”

“I literally ran into Erica Reyes at school, so that felt pretty crappy.”

“Reyes... She was one of the girls at the... compound.”

“Yeah. Her parents brought her there. I didn't know what happened to her until today.”

“Sounds like you had quite a shock. Were you close with her?”

“No, I... I guess, when we were kids but we stopped hanging out long before the raid.”

“Hanging out,” his dad repeated, a speculative look in his eye. “It's strange to hear you talk about it like normal kid stuff.”

Stiles shrugged. “To me, it kinda was. I mean, I freaked out at first. Wanted to go home. After a while you just learned to live there. I was a normal kid, mostly I mean. We had school work to do, complained about homework, gossiped about other people, and hung out with kids our age. Me and Scott were inseparable, shocking I know, but I also spent a lot of time with Malia. She is a good friend, dad.”

The Sheriff nodded. “I know, son. It's just hard for me to look at her and see an innocent girl. All I see is her father.”

Stiles didn't know what to say to that. It wasn't like he could lie and insist that Malia wanted nothing to do with Peter, or that she was nothing like him. He was all she had, after all. “I'm going to do some homework. I'll be down in an hour for dinner.”

The Sheriff heaved a sigh but said nothing as Stiles took his backpack up to his bedroom. Of course, when Stiles said 'homework' what he meant was 'IM Scott'. He loggon on as quickly as possible and opened up a dialogue window.

STILES: Erica's at school

SCOTT: Seriously? Have you spoken to her?

STILES: OK, maybe you didn't read that right. ERICA IS AT SCHOOL. Remember Erica? She's not a big fan of the Stiles, as hard as that is to imagine.

I don't blame her.

SCOTT: That wasn't your fault

STILES: Debatable and besides the point. Will she be enough?

SCOTT: I don't know. Maybe her and Malia and you? I mean, you;re basically Pack to me anyway

STILES: That's sweet, man, but I know you need some real mojo to keep control.

SCOTT: I’m just guessing here. It's better than what we had before. Can you talk to her?

STILES: I can talk to anyone, you know me. The question is if she will listen. Skittish doesn't even come close to describing how she acted. It was like Peter was waiting around the corner trying to catch us out of something.

SCOTT: Seriously, man, you need to talk about that.

STILES: What, with Miss Morrell? That woman is shadier than The Joker.

SCOTT: She's trying to help.

STILES: Is she?

SCOTT: Look, I gotta go. Mom is calling me for dinner. 

STILES: Sure. Dad's cooking anyway so I guess I better make an apperance!

SCOTT: That's cool, your dad making an effort.

STILES: Yeah. Cool or worrying! See you tomorrow night.

SCOTT: Bye.

\- SCOTT - HAS SIGNED OFF

Dinner at the Stilinski house was stilted but no where near as awkward as Stiles had feared. His dad had made a real effort to keep the conversation light but relevant and they both made sure the time was quality and not wasted. Stiles did the dishes and they watched a game of football before Stiles excused himself to go finish his homework, actually attempting to get the essay written for Miss Bell even though it wasn't due until Friday. It wasn't like he would get the chance tomorrow night to do any of it. Afterwards Stiles went to bed feeling relaxed and peaceful for the first time in a long time. Perhaps that was why it all went to Hell that night?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who had commented, left Kudos, or favourited. Love you guys!!!


	8. A Memory of Monsters

Stiles sat in Morrell's office the next day, shivering in jeans and two layers of tee shirts with the smell of burnt flesh invading his senses and a distinct ache in his right shoulder and the left of his lower back.

“Are you ready to talk to me now?” Miss Morrell asked, her voice level and calm. So deliberately non-judgemental that Stiles always assumed she was in fact judging everything. He didn't like that he couldn't read her, not when reading people became a survival tip.

“I don't want to. I don't trust you, but I think I need to talk to someone, and it can't be anyone I love so I guess a morally ambiguous counsellor of unknown loyalties will have to do.”

“I'm hear to listen, and advise. What you do with that advice is your decision, and you should know, Stiles, that I take my promise of confidentiality very seriously.”

“Good,” he said, as if this issue was closed. Silence elapsed, he didn't know how to bring up the painful things he wanted to discuss so he fidgeted and tried to hide how tired and mentally pained he was. Normally little effort was required, since living with supernatural lie detectors he'd become quite the consummate liar, but he'd had horrifying nightmares two nights in a row and he just couldn't right now. He didn't have the energy or faculties. 

“Where do you want to start? How about last night?”

Stiles reached for the glass of water in front of him and took a sip. “I had a nightmare.”

“From what your father told me this isn't the first time. What was different about this one?”

He stared at her, meeting her cool even gaze. “When I woke up, I thought it wasn't over. I actually thought I was still dreaming; that my waking was another level of the nightmare and that when I truly regained conscious I wouldn't be at my house with my dad just a room away.”

“You thought you would wake up to find you had never been rescued, that you were still under Peter's control?”

“You think he controlled me?” Stiles asked sharply, something about her words needling him.

Morrell's expression was as blank and calm as ever. “I think you were a vulnerable eleven year old boy who Peter emotionally, mentally, physically and sexually abused. There isn't ever going to be one single word that encompasses what you have been through Stiles.”

He rolled his eyes and huddled up into the chair. “I'm not the victim everything thinks I am.”

“You see yourself as complicate in your own victimisation?”

“I'm guilty. I had an argument with my dad that day. He was drunk, said something and I ran away. I meant to come home, but once I found the Compound I was told I wouldn't be allowed to leave. They couldn't have the Sheriff's son reporting back to daddy what he'd seen, I guess.”

“Your mother, she passed before this?”

“Not long before, Enough that people wanted me to be a normal kid, but I was still grieving. So was dad. Scott was the only one who understood.”

“It must have been a relief to have Scott with you at the Compound”

Stiles shook his head. “He shouldn't have been there. His and Melissa's lives would be so much better if they'd never come looking for me.”

He saw Morrell nod slightly and knew that she'd be making notes on his guilt complex later. He knew it was over the top to accredit every bad thing that had happened to his own actions, but it was truly how he felt. Like when his mom died something inside of him burned until all that was left was charred black remains, evil and twisted and unworthy of forgiveness or love. Maybe it was the thing that Peter had seen when he had looked at him. Peter must have known how despicable Stiles was.

“Your nightmare is what brought you here today, Stiles. Are you able to tell me the content of that dream?”

“It wasn't a dream; it was a memory. That's the worst thing. A nightmare, you can wake up from. You can be comforted by the knowledge that it didn't really happen and that in the sunlight nothing can hurt you. My memory did happen. It was painful and violent and twisted and it happened in the daylight. Nothing is ever going to change that fact and no matter how much my dad loves me, he can't go back in time and save me from that day.”

“What happened, Stiles? What did you need saving from.”

“My nightmare,” he almost whispered, choked up and afraid of crying on school grounds when he still had so much left to do today, “was of the day Peter first... I had been messing around with the other kids on the Compound. Skateboarding, listening to music and talking shit. Erica dragged me around the corner and I followed, laughing at something stupid Scott had said. She leaned in and kissed me. It was quick, kind of chaste. Her first, and mine too. I didn't have a chance to react, because as soon as she stepped back Ennis pulled her away from me and threw her to the ground. She hurt her knee, a graze, and bit a bit of her tongue as she fell. I don't really remember what was said or the order of events, but somehow we ended up before Peter a large audience room, except it was just me, Erica and Ennis before him. Peter was angry, he said that if we had decided that we were old enough for making out then it was time he started treating us like adults. Erica received a punishment and a gift that day, the punishment was that she was to be starved until the new moon. She was told that if she survived and swore never to look at me or be alone with me ever again then she would be rewarded afterwards. Then Ennis took her away and I was alone with Peter for the first time. I was so scared, I thought he was going to kill me... I guess it was naïve to think that death was the worst thing that could ever happen to me, but then I was only fourteen. Peter told me his plans for me then, my new position. This is where my nightmare always picks up; he said he was going to tattoo me so I would always remember, but I've been terrified of needles since I saw a doctor take my mom's blood; it left a bruise for days. I think I cried or something, I'm not sure. Peter got all concerned, started stroking my back and telling me that of course he wouldn't tattoo me if it upset me that much.” Stiles paused. He had never spoken so many words on the subject and it was as tiring as it was scary. He felt like he was betraying something and the whole experience didn't feel freeing or helpful at all. He took another breath and steeled himself to continue. “Ennis returned along with two other people I didn't know back then. They took me into a different room and someone brought Peter a glowing metal rod with a paw print stamp on one end. They held me down and someone pressed the stamp into my skin, branding me. Peter held me in his lap, telling me how good I was being and telling me how kind he was being to brand me when I was afraid of needles. He said I should thank him, and later he would show me how. So that's my dream. I can't pretend that everything is better just because I woke up. I have to live with these memories and right now they are choking me.”

“May I see?” Morrell asked, although she didn't sound calm any more. Her eyes were large in her face, and her mouth was a tense line. This had upset her.

Stiles shrugged. He had bared his soul to her, so there shouldn't be an issue revealing his back. He turned around and pulled the layered tees up so she could see. He heard her breath catch. He knew what she was looking at, a long pale expanse of seemingly untouched skin marred only by a paw print the size of a human hand on the left hand side of his lower back, and another on the right hand shoulder blade. It mirrored the places that Peter used to hold him down to fuck him.

“Thank you, Stiles. I'm glad we had this talk. You should come back in a week, and of course continue the group sessions. I hope getting that off of your chest was somewhat therapeutic. I wish I could be of more help but this isn't going to be a one-session fix, I'm afraid,” she said, attempting to sound detached, however there was a murderous glint in her eyes and her nails dug into the edge of the desk. Stiles recognised her body language now and it was somewhat of a relief to realise Miss Morrell was as human as the rest of them.


	9. Home

Derek Hale sat opposite Chris Argent's desk next to his sister. Laura was buzzing with nervous energy, said she had a 'good feeling' about this meeting. They had been playing this to-and-fro game with Argent ever since Lydia Martin was kidnapped and the police started to get serious about taking action against Peter Hale's Cult. Derek tried not to think about the fact that the Hunters, who had known about the situation with the Hale Pack for years, had sat by and allowed Peter to kill his sister and cast out his nieces and nephew without taking action. He guessed as long as no humans got hurt then the Hunters just didn't care.

As soon as Argent entered the room Derek could tell it was bad news. Laura's happy smile shrank and she grew fretful at his side, so he reached out to grab her hand in a brotherly gesture of solidarity. This had been hardest of all on her, she felt responsible for the Pack since their mom had been grooming her to be Alpha one day.

“Just tell us.”

“We need more.”

Derek wanted to punch something. “More? You just freed over a hundred people from his Cult and we handed you the people responsible for kidnapping Lydia Martin on a silver platter and you need more?”

“I want Peter dead just as much as you do, but I have two sets of rules to follow; human laws and the Code. Without proof I can't take any action.”

“I don't understand. What about the statements collected from the people who lived in Peter's cult?” Laura asked sharply.

Argent sighed. “Some were inadmissible due to allusions to the... otherness of the Cult, making the witness sound unreliable and susceptible to coercion and brainwashing. Other statements read like a pre-recorded message of name and rank. In the end there was nothing substantial in any reports.”

“I don't understand. How can people refuse to speak out against him?”

“They're scared, or stupid, or loyal. I've seen evidence of all three in many of the so called victims of Peter Hale. He is a charming monster, your uncle.”

“How, exactly, are we supposed to get more?” Derek asked when Laura seemed at a loss. She had pinned all her hopes on this one shot of getting rid of Peter for good and now it had failed all the fight seemed to be leaving her. Derek knew how much she had risked to bring Argent and the FBI evidence, but all of that would be for nothing if they couldn't make sure Peter was taken care in the most final of ways.

“There are a few people who Peter Hale was close to, one of them being Malia Tate, your cousin. Perhaps you could extend the olive branch to her and bring her into your family? From all accounts she was the one with the most trust from Peter. Of course, you'd have to break the hold he has on her first which might be harder than you'd think.”

“Malia is our only answer? What if that doesn't work?”

Argent hesitated. “Well, then I guess you could try Stilinski.”

“Stiles? Peter's little whore?” Derek said.

“Derek! He's a kid, just another one of Peter's numerous victims. Don't refer to him like that,” Laura chastised him.

“I meant that's how Peter saw him. Why would Peter entrust his piece of ass with delicate information?” Derek asked, ignoring the punch his strong older sister delivered to his left arm.

“They say he's extremely intelligent. I'm sure he knows more than he's letting on. It's just a case of getting to him, which again will be the challenge. His dad is the town Sheriff, his best friend is a werewolf, and Malia Tate is often seen in his company.”

“So, it's impossible?”

“Hardly. There is an in, you know. Scott McCall is alpha-less for the first time and he can't be doing well. Why don't you offer them help?” Argent suggested.

“You think they'll accept help from a Hale?”

“I think you need to make them or this whole case goes away and we won't have any legal reason to stop Peter Hale from resuming his activities.”

Derek opened his mouth to say something impolite but Laura's hand on his arm stopped him. She smiled gently if insincerely at Argent and said, “we understand. Thank you for your time Mr Argent, we'll be going now. I'm sure we'll be in touch if any new information surfaces.”

“Of course,” Argent nodded and watched them both warily as they retreated from his office.

“What was that about?” Derek asked one they were free and clear from the building. He shook his sister's arm off and got in the passenger seat of Laura's Camaro. She rolled her eyes and started the engine.

“It's no use making an enemy out of the Hunters, Derek. He told us all he could and now we have to make the decision if we want to take things further.”

“If? Laura, what do you mean if?”

She sighed. “I'm tired of looking over my shoulder, Derek. We haven't been living these last few years, maybe it's time we just let go of the Pack and start afresh? Move away, far from the stigma of being Peter Hale's outcast niece and nephew, to somewhere we can rebuild our identity. Somewhere we can be happy.”

“This is our home, Laura. Our mother's home. I don't think abandoning it is the right thing to do.”

“Why? What is here for us other than our memories?”

Derek didn't have an answer. As the journey progressed he watched out the window, catching glances of the park where Cora had broken her left after falling out of a tree, the bowling alley his dad had taken him to for his tenth birthday party, and the lake that Laura had learned to swim in. These were more than memories, these were the experiences that made up who he was and he wasn't ready to let them go; not without a fight.

“I'm willing to do whatever is necessary to hold on to our home, Laura. We're going to come out of this stronger than ever, just you wait and see,” he promised.


	10. Confrontations

It cost Stiles twenty dollars to bribe a student who volunteered in the records department to get Erica's class schedule and current address information. He didn't want her to feel threatened so he skipped last period and waited in the corridor outside her last class of the day. The bell rang and a few seconds later the most enthusiastic of leavers rushed past Stiles on their way out of the building leaving others trailing out behind them. Erica sauntered down the hallway, enjoying the freedom of gawking teenage boys parting the crowd for her. Stiles followed her until she exited the car park and came to a sudden stop. 

“I know you're there, Stilinski, so you might as well come on out and say whatever you're here to say,” she said without turning around.

Stiles stumbled out from behind some foliage. “It's not what you think!”

“You weren't following me because you don't have the guts to approach me in public and get knocked down again?”

“Well, that's kind of the truth of it. Look, I know you don't like me, hell I don't really like me, but this isn't about me or you or Peter Hale. It's Scott.”

“Scott?”

“He's all alone, and he needs you tonight: It's a full moon.”

She finally turned around to look at him and he saw something he hadn't been anticipating; fear. Behind beautiful almond shaped brown eyes and lips so red they sand out their confidence was pure unadulterated fear, the kind that could only be felt by someone who had lived with the emotion. “We're all alone, Stiles.”

“No... I... are you okay, Erica?” He took a step towards her and she flinched back instinctively, her eyes darting around the street searching for a familiar pair of raging red eyes.

“He's not here. You know that right? You are safe,” he said, the word sounding bitter to his own ears. What use was safe after he had already learned to live with it's opposite? 

“You think we're safe?” She said, her voice barely more than an incredulous whisper.

“I know we are,” he reiterated.

Her eyes narrowed. “You know where the Alpha is, don't you?”

Stiles' heart skipped a beat and his mouth ran dry. He hadn't intended for her to make that deduction. No one else had. It was almost amusing; the police had questioned him thoroughly when he had first been rescued, sure that he must know the location of Peter Hale. Back then he honestly hadn't known. Now he did have an idea and he didn't know what to do with the information. He didn't want the humans to get hurt, for Peter to have an opportunity to kill his dad and call it self defence, but he didn't think that going to the hunters was a good idea either. Not after the way they had killed so indiscriminately during the rescue mission. “He isn't here, and he won't be coming back. Not until he's sure it's safe.”

“And what, you're going to make sure it is safe for him to come back? Are you really that mindless that you can't appreciate a life without him?”

“You think what, that I'm counting down the moments until we're reunited and he can resume our relationship? Erica, I might not appreciate my life as much as I should right now but that doesn't mean I'm looking to return to what we had. Right now life doesn't make any sense. Everywhere I turn there is someone I have to lie to or hide something from; for their own good or for my own. I don't have a place in this world, but the place I had in Peter's world is abhorrent to me. I can't go back but I have no idea how to go forward,” Stiles' voice cracked and he realised he was crying. He wiped the tears away with the back of his long sleeve shirt and looked at Erica again, pleading in his eyes. He saw her face harden and he lost hope.

“Okay, how can I help Scott.”

*_*

“What's she doing here?” Malia asked when Stiles and Erica joined her at Scott's house later that evening.

“I invited her.”

“What? Why?”

“Scott needs her, Malia, nothing more,” he said, and she pursed her lips in irritation. It wasn't like she didn't understand what he was getting at, but Peter had put a lot of prejudices in her mind and she carried them with her like a blanky to keep her safe from nightmares. It was her own way of making sense of the world and despite how dangerous and short-sighed it was, he envied her the simplicity of it all.

“I'm watching you, beta.”

Erica tossed her hair and gave Malia a superior look. “Watch away, sweetheart, I'm not going anywhere.”

“Kids!” Melissa yelled from inside the house. “If you're here to help, now would be good!”

Stiles dropped his rucksack as he took after Malia and Erica, both half changed into their werewolf forms at the urgency of Melissa's voice. By the time they got inside the house Scott was already gone. Melissa was on the floor in the kitchen, a hand pressed to her forehead as blood trickled down. They all looked at the open back door. 

“I'll be fine; go!” Melissa assured them and Malia took off, Erica and Stiles on her heels. Even though he knew he wouldn't be able to keep up, Stiles ran with them for as long as he could, but sooner rather than later, the girls disappeared from sight as they followed the fresh scent trail of a confused and angry lone wolf. 

Stiles stopped by a tree, panting into the cold night air as the tried his best to gain control over his racing heartbeat. He was so preoccupied by this task that his poor human ears never noticed the approaching predator until the growl. 

Stiles spun around reflexively and gasped in surprise. Before him was a wolf, with a beautiful black coat and icy blue eyes glowing angrily at him. 

“S... Scott?” He asked, but he knew he was wrong. Scott wasn't able to shift into a full wolf and until this moment he had thought the whole idea was a myth. Besides, this werewolf had blue eyes, like Peter's, and Scott's were an ordinary beta gold.

The wolf growled again, a warning sound, but then his ears flicked and his head turned in the direction of a wolf howl. The wolf must be part of a pack, and Stiles had interrupted their run. Just as the full ramifications of being alone in the middle of the Beacon Hills Preserve with a hungry werewolf on a full moon sunk in, the wolf took off, running with a long elegant stride in the direction that Malia an d Erica had gone just moments before. Stiles was alone.


	11. Moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Been trying to get back in to my many TW WIPs lately and this is what I've started with.

Stiles had a choice to make. He could seek safety, and a part of him that was all too human and young wanted so much to do that, to crawl into the smallest space and ward off the demons with prayers or magic as if such a thing would help. He wished for a knife, but he knew the monsters he was scared of were stronger than him and more than capable of using the knife against him. With that option abandoned he had to face the fight or flight response . Of course he chose fight, even though he knew how weak his own mortal body was he wasn’t capable of walking away from his best friend. 

Stiles cussed himself out for the rapid beat of his heart that filled his ears every time he tried to listen to the silence around him for a sign of what to do next. His inferior eyes couldn’t track in the moonlight that only provided enough light for him to be able to avoid trees. It took hours but finally he found them.

“Get away from him!” Stiles called out instinctively as the large wolf cornered Scott in a small bricked play park on the edge of the preserve. Stiles knew the area from where his mom used to take them for picnics before she became ill, he was not about to watch his best friend get killed here. He had too many bad memories already, it was time to fight to preserve the good ones. 

Scott turned his head and snarled in Stiles’ direction and Stiles skidded to a stop, wishing, not for the first time, that he’d had enough sense to bring his cell and call for help from Malia and Erica. Unlike some men Stiles had no problems with the idea of being saved by girls, especially considering they were super-powered. Just when Stiles was about to go to his knees and bare his neck in a gesture that used to calm the other werewolves down, the unknown wolf did something that shocked Stiles and held him frozen in awe. One minute there was an over-sized wolf with fantastic bright blue eyes and teeth as big as Stiles’ fingers, and the next an inhumanly attractive man stood there, so so so naked, with his body positioned between Stiles and Scott. He was facing Scott so Stiles couldn't see his face but his tone was one of authority as he barked an order for Scott to stay.

“Friend, this is your friend Scott. You need to listen to your heart and not let your instincts overtake you.”

“Can’t…. hard!” Scott whined, his eyes flickering between their unnatural golden and the kind brown eyes that Stiles had always found comfort in.

“If this is where you think things get hard then you might as well kill yourself, Scott, before you let yourself become a monster.”

“No!” Stiles wailed. A part of his brain recognized that this was a tactic but mostly he was torn up at the idea of losing his best friend. He had already lost his parents, his home, his childhood, a chance of gentle discovery about himself and exploration of his sexuality. He had lost his innocence. He could not lose Scott to an act as horrific and scarring as suicide. Scott was strong, he needed to show this stranger that he was stronger than the curse of lycanthropy.

The stranger didn’t spare him a glance, kept eye contact with Scott as Stiles’ pained exclamation penetrated the fog of the full moon’s magic. Stiles saw the claws retract but a second later he snarled and his eyes lit up again, a blaze of agony as wolf and man fought for control.

“Use the anger, Scott, use the pain. It’s your humanity!”

“Scott, please come home. Your mom needs you,” Stiles said softly, and finally the beast receded leaving a panting wreck of a teenager in its place, pain stamped on every inch of Scott’s face as he struggled to remain human.

“Tell me she’s okay?” He whined.

“She just wants to see you,” Stiles assured him. “She’s more worried about you than herself.”

“I hurt her.”

Stiles shook his head. “I didn’t see. She’ll be okay, but we need to get you home.” Stiles edged past the stranger and looped a supportive arm around Scott’s shoulders as they started to limp away.

"Give me your pants."

Stiles froze and turned back to look at the stranger, immediately regretting his decision. He tried to keep the blush from staining his cheeks but he was pale so it was futile. "No I'm not giving you my pants! Anyway, I um... don't think they'd fit."

Stiles caught the smirk on the man's all too handsome face before he looked away, focusing on the swingset behind him. "What about a thank you, then?” He asked tauntingly.

“What did you even do? Apart from suggest suicide as an option?”

“I stopped him from ripping you in half.”

Stiles continued walking away, ignoring that comment.

“Maybe next time you won’t be so lucky?”

“Is that a threat?” Stiles rounded on the unknown wolf, a glare his only weapon.

“Not from me,” the dark haired man said. Stiles felt his eyes burn into him as he continued to help Scott walk away.

By the time they made it back to the house it was almost dawn. Melissa had taken care of wound but the bruising around her cheekbone was evident in the early morning light and she was exhausted from worrying all night. Even so the first thing she did upon seeing the boys was to run up and draw her son into a hug. Tears streamed down Scott’s face as he buried his nose in her neck taking comfort from the familiarity. Scott had been lucky that he had never been separated from his mom. Stiles envied him that, but he knew it had come at a cost.

“Where have you been? Did anyone see you? Are you hurt? Is anyone else hurt?” Melissa asked rapidly as she withdrew from the hug and lead them both inside.

“No one is hurt,” Scott said. “Except you, mom I-”

“Don’t apologize to be, Scott, don’t ever. I know exactly who you are and you are a sweet boy who would never hurt me. It was the full moon and I don’t want to hear another word about it!”

Scott nodded but his eyes looked sad as he took in his mother’s injuries. She poured three cups of coffees as she regained control of her own emotions, close to the surface after a long and challenging night. When she had collected herself she turned around and pushed the cups towards the boys who were just starting to shake now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

“So no one saw you?” She asked again.

“No one human,” Stiles said, sharing a glance with Melissa.

“Tell me he’s not-”

“Not Peter,” Stiles interrupted her panic. “I didn’t recognize this werewolf.”

“I did,” Scott said, his voice sounded like it was from far away.

“What? How? Who is he?”

“When you get the bite there is this moment when you are so connected to the Alpha that a part of him bleeds into you, only instead of actual blood its like memories and stuff. I saw him in Peter’s mind. I think he’s his nephew.”

“Derek Hale? That was Derek Hale?” Stiles said, his stress levels rising to an unacceptable high. He took in a deep breath but felt like there was no air in the room so tried again, his breaths getting shallower and shorter causing his head to swim and his hands tingle.

“Stiles, calm down it’s okay,” Melissa said, pressing the warm cup into his hands and asking him to take a sip. Stiles’s hands trembled and he lost his grip spilling coffee all over the table. He jumped up and backed away from them, needing space. 

“Don’t,” Melissa said as Scott started towards him. 

They both stayed, close but not too close, until Stiles could breathe again, his heartbeat returning to normal and his mind clear now. Embarrassment swept over him. He hadn’t experienced a panic attack like that for years. It would be easy to think he had them all the time at the compound, he’d certainly had enough anxiety to deal with on a daily basis, but his mind had been focused on the present threat and what he needed to do to stay safe. It was frustrating for Stiles that the real world seemed more scary than the compound where he faced monsters every day.

A glass of icy cold water was on the table now and Stiles returned to his seat, drinking it all down. Melissa broke the silence. “Want to tell me what that was about?”

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t really know. I guess I just hadn’t realized he was a Hale.”

“He isn’t like Peter,” Melissa assured him. As an adult, the wife of one of the FBI task force leaders and a close friend of the Sheriff’s she had been given a bit more information about what was going on, but that stopped as soon as Raphael and Stilinski realized that she wasn’t going to give them anything they could use.

“I know,” Stiles said. “I’m not scared of Peter.”

Melissa and Scott exchanged concerned looks over Stiles’ head.

“You know I’m here for you, right Stiles?” Scott said, putting his hand on Stiles shoulder.

Stiles jerked like he had been electrified and met Scott’s puppy dog eyes. “Yeah. I know.” He said, but it wasn’t comforting when the fact was tonight all that had been stood between Scott’s feral teeth and Stiles’ vulnerable flesh had been a Hale.

“Have you heard from the girls?” Stiles asked, he wanted to move on.

“I’ll call them now.” Melissa went into the other room to phone Erica and Malia who were out patrolling for Scott.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Scott asked again.

“Yeah. Look, I’m beat. I’m gonna go for a rest. The spare room okay?” The spare room was a safe space for Stiles because it was where he and Scott’s den had been when they were kids. Originally the girls were going to sleep there and Stiles was going to share Scott’s bed but right now he wanted space.

“Sure. Good night, Stiles.”

“Yeah. Good night.”


End file.
